Awkward
by Joebob the Fifth
Summary: Sometimes, every little thing can be misinterpreted. Mamori and Hiruma struggle to understand each other while stumbling over insecurity and pride. Rated T mostly for Hiruma's language.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Hi, this is my first fanfiction story. I seem to be having some trouble with creating a scene break. If anyone has any suggestions, I'd gladly welcome them. Thank you for reading. ^..^

Disclaimer: I make no claim to the ownership of any Eyeshield 21 characters. Eyeshield 21 and all its facets belong to Riichiro Inagaki, who is awesome. This is not for profit, simply personal entertainment with the intent to improve my writing.

It was an awkward affair, their first date. Then again, their whole relationship seemed awkward. Mamori sat across from Hiruma at a small table in the corner of the building. It was poorly lit. She could barely see him, and he had pulled out a gun when the waiter had leaned forward to speak to them. The poor man had quickly stumbled back. A young woman replaced him, shaking. She did not lean forward.

Despite this, it was a nice restuarant, fancier than Mamori had expected. It was fortunate she had listened to Hiruma when he told her to wear semi-formal.

Their silverware clinked.

Mamori shifted tugged at the hemline of her pale blue dress. Hiruma was looking anywhere but at her. He had dressed for the occasion as well. Her boyfriend, if only she could smile at the thought, wore a simple lavender button-down shirt and black slacks. His blonde spikes were almost flat. The style was certainly less pointy than usual. She tucked a strand of her auburn hair behind her ear.

The movement attracted Hiruma's attention. He glanced at her, then looked away. "You look nice."

"Thanks," Mamori said, brightly despite her thoughts. "So do you."

He nodded and continued eating. She wished she hadn't confessed.

Everything was different now, awkward. As if the brilliant spark they had was replaced by this... this. Very little had actually changed, but it all felt different, somehow, flat and stressed. He still called her fucking manager or some other epitaph. They yelled and they fought, about plays, about respect, about Sena, about guns. But, when they were alone, those brief times when everyone else had left the clubroom or had not yet arrived, there was nothing. She sat on one side of the table. He sat on the other.

"The food is good." Mamori ventured.

"Tch, it better be." Hiruma scowled. "It was a damn nightmare to find a..." he paused, catching himself, "A suitable place," He finished, somewhat lamely, and frowned at himself for it.

Mamori tilted her head. Her short hair escaped her ear and tilted with her head, revealing a small earring. Hiruma took a long drink. When he sat the glass down, Mamori asked, "What do you mean by suitable, Hiruma-kun?"

Sharp teeth showing, Hiruma grinned, "You'll see for dessert. I ordered while you were fidgeting, manajerk."

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Her confession had been absolutely unspectacular. Two weeks ago, she waited until after practice, when it was just the two of them. They were sorting plays and trying to decide on a team to have a practice game against.

"Zokugaku is always up for a game," Mamori suggested, not really thinking as she blindly shifted through pages. She was trying to work up the courage for what, she was convinced, would certainly fail.

"Are you even paying attention, shitty manager? We played them last week. The fucking team needs to practice against different types of players." Hiruma said, harshly scolding her.

Ashamed for neglecting her duties as manager, Mamori quickly skimmed through her notes before pulling out the ones she was searching for. She handed it to Hiruma, saying, "I was thinking this college team might be willing to play us. They have several new players on their reserve team, so they could use the practice as well."

Hiruma swiftly read her notes. "Do it." He grinned, widely.

Mamori nodded, and the two fell into a comfortable silence. She hoped the team would agree to play with them without Hiruma's intervention. Things always tended to become high-strung, bets made, countries crossed, when people were reluctant. The quarterback had already begun researching this new team's strategies while Mamori double-checked her notes and made plans on how best to approach their coach.

After a few minutes, Mamori set down her pen and looked up. Hiruma glanced at her, immediately noting her change in posture. "Finally going to say what's been bugging you, fucking manager?"

Sighing, she told him, "I'd really rather you called me by name, Hiruma-kun."

"That's old news, fuck-ing man-a-ger." He drew out the last two words in a taunt. No longer interested, he closed his laptop and stood to leave.

Mamori stood with him, angry, "Ooh, you're suck a jerk, Hiruma-kun! Why can't you just let me confess?" She said, letting her temper get the better of her.

Hiruma paused. "Confess?"

"Yes," she shouted. "I like you!" The words echoed through the clubroom, half challenge. She stood, eyes fiery and waited for him to turn her down.

He stilled, only moving his eyes at first, taking in her flushed face, balled fists. She liked him? "Sure," he said, then casually continued toward the exit.

Startled and confused, Mamori chased after him. "Wait, what?" Hiruma stopped right before the door.

He turned around and met her eyes. With more confidence than she had confessed with, he explained, "Sure, we can go out." Then, he left.

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That was all there was to it until she had demanded a date three days ago. Hiruma had nodded. The next day, he had given her a time and general suggestion on dress. Now, they were here, at The Cafe, which usually required reservations considerably more than three days in advance.

Mamori poked at her food. It was delicious, but she wasn't really enjoying it. Hiruma set down his knife and fork, which he'd used as if he were native to them, then waved at the waitress. Within moments, the harried girl had swept away their finished dishes, filled their glasses, and brought a covered tray. Mamori was impressed. The girl paused before removing the lid with a flourish.

Hiruma smirked. "It's not quite Kariya's, but it's the chef's specialty."

On the plate were six creampuffs, but not exactly. They had a strange red sauce dribbled over them. Their filling also had a slight red tint and a tang she did not expect or recognize. They were not Kariya creampuffs, no, but she relished them in near the same fashion. Conscious of the situation, she daintily ate three. Hiruma ate one. The last two sat on the plate, taunting her.

In the dim light, so focused on the dessert it was impolite to eat, Mamori missed the slight softening of Hiruma's expression. His lips quirked, just a little, as he watched her, struggling between her appreciation of the food, the knowledge that he wouldn't eat them and her sense of fairness and etiquette. Finally, Mamori laid down her fork, signaling a victory over temptation. Hiruma turned away before she could catch his smile.

The check came, along with a small box. Hiruma took the check and ignored the box. His date, curious as always, pulled it to her. Inside were twelve more creampuffs.

Hiruma closed the book with a snap. Mamori jumped. "You might as well put the last two in there. I won't eat them."

"Did you not like them?"

He scowled. "Too fucking sweet. I thought the wine might help, but it didn't."

"Wine, Hiruma-kun, did you drink wine? We're still underage." She scolded on reflex.

"Tch, we didn't drink any wine; besides, I had less than you did. Where do you want to go next?" Hiruma stood, dismissing her concern, and circled to her side of the table. Mamori shuffled in her purse before pulling out a billfold. Hiruma pulled her chair away from the table with her still sitting, then placed himself before her in the space he'd made. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"I'm helping with the bill. Afterall, I did insist you take me on this date." She leaned around Hiruma to reach for the bill. Hiruma grabbed her outstretched hand and lifted her from her seat. For a brief moment, their bodies were pressed closely together.

"Are you trying to insult me?" He asked, still holding her hand, his voice gruff.

"Ah, um, no. I'm sorry," she said, stepping out of reach and freeing her hand, embarrassed. "I just..."

Hiruma's already unpleasant expression turned harsh as he angrily walked past her. "You just wanted to treat me like the fucking shrimps. Don't forget your creampuffs, fucking manager."


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Sorry for the short chapters. It's my first story, but please critique or not, as you please. ^..^ Thanks for reading.

Disclaimer: I make no claim to the ownership of any Eyeshield 21 characters. Eyeshield 21 and all its facets belong to Riichiro Inagaki, who is awesome. This is not for profit, simply personal entertainment with the intent to improve my writing.

She was surprised to find Hiruma waiting outside the restuarant. She had somehow convinced herself he would leave completely. But, there he was, back to her, tapping one foot with his hands in his pockets. She heard a gum bubble pop just as she walked up.

"Took you long enough." He said and immediately started walking. She followed him, clutching the box of thirteen creampuffs to her chest.

"I had to powder my nose," she explained, only the slightest hitch present in her voice.

Hiruma grit his teeth and kept on walking, hands firmly in his pockets, afterall, she didn't want to hold them. The sun was low, but daylight still lingered. Mamori had caught up and was keeping pace with him. She had both arms crossed over the little white box. The silence dragged. Hiruma was frustrated. The longer he let things settle, the lower the percentage for success would slip. He had to do something. He wasn't at zero, yet.

Mamori withdrew a second creampuff from the box, intending to eat it. Suddenly, Hiruma grabbed her wrist and took a small bite. Mamori, shocked, missed a step. The creampuff splattered onto Hiruma's face in an instant.

Slowly releasing her wrist, the devil of Deimon straightened. Mamori gaped, stunned at what she had done. The creamy dessert painted Hiruma's face like bad make-up. Most of it was centered on his nose and mouth, but a little had ventured into his eyebrows and some even dared to drip onto his shirt. The red tint immediately stained the lavender.

Frozen due to horror and more than a little overwhelmed, Mamori couldn't suppress the small giggle from escaping her lips at the sight of the school's most fearsome man covered in creampuff. Her hands went to her mouth, hoping he had not heard and blocking any further treasonous sounds from making way. Tears burned at the corners of her eyes. Something was wrong with her, she would never do this usually, but she could not contain her humor.

Seeing this, Hiruma enacted the sweetest vengeance he could. He pulled out his black book and a pen, then opened it to the page titled Anezaki Mamori. He read aloud as he wrote. "Kekeke, Anezaki, wastes creampuffs." He quirked a slightly red eyebrow at his date.

This time, she scowled. "No, I would never!" She insisted, then realizing her mistake, corrected herself, "I mean, I didn't..." Hiruma just looked at her, all the more menacing decked in red. "Oh, it was an accident." She told him, balling her fists and unintentionally crushing the box of creampuffs in the process. "Nooo!" She cried when she heard the box crunch.

Hiruma put his book away, confident she had been suitably punished. He wiped some of the pastry off with his hand, then shook the it over the concrete of the sidewalk and continued walking.

"I'd been thinking karaoke or the park," he called over his shoulder. "But I would like to get cleaned up first, if you're done bemoaning your actions, Waster of Creampuffs." His expression could not be more smug.

Catching herself, Mamori once again chased after her date. When she reached him, she grabbed his shirt sleeve to stop him. Looking closely at the impending stain, she said, "We'll need somewhere we can clean this quickly or the stain will set, Hiruma-kun." She handed him her handkerchief to remove at least some of the sticky mess.

He shrugged, taking the offered cloth. The quarterback managed to wipe off most of the pastry, but the cream filling remained. Hruma sniffed. He rank of alcohol now. "The park will have public facilities, creampuff waster." He was not particularly concerned, a stained shirt was a minor injury to get a first down, but smelling of alcohol could prove to be a problem. He needed to get his face cleaned before someone mistook the situation. At least their date had finally changed pace

Not realizing Hiruma's true dilemma, Mamori could not accept the easy solution. She blamed herself for the stain and moreso for laughing at him; she had to fix it "No, we'll need cleaning supplies, a kitchen of some kind would be best. I didn't mean to laugh, please let me keep the stain from setting."

"Tch, it's just a shirt."

Mamori looked down, upset beyond words. Then, gathering her resolve, she met his eyes. "No, it's not. This is the shirt you wore when Gaou went into the stands. Please, I couldn't forgive myself."

Hiruma quickly turned away from that insistent look before she could notice his pleasure at her words and resumed walking. He quickly considered his options. He had little choice when faced with that kind of plea, he had to find somewhere. He could takeover a restuarant or a similar location and forcefully make use of what was available. She would not be pleased, though. The blackmail she might handle, but it would be too difficult to keep their secret in such a public location. He sighed and ran a hand through his not-so-spiky hair. "Tch, whatever. My place isn't too far from here."

The building, a mere four blocks distant, was tall with a glassy sheen. Mamori could not help but be impressed. When they reached his apartment, Hiruma showed her the kitchen along with where the cleaning supplies were located and left her with a strict order. "Don't go fucking poking around." He then stepped out of the room, throwing his shirt behind him as he went. The shirt hit her face as she caught it, keeping her from accidentally seeing his bare torso. Briefly, she hugged it. He might be harsh at times, but he was sweet, too.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I make no claim to the ownership of any Eyeshield 21 characters. Eyeshield 21 and all its facets belong to Riichiro Inagaki, who is awesome. This is not for profit, simply personal entertainment with the intent to improve my writing.

Chapter Three

For some reason, the stain was not relenting. She ate another creampuff and left the shirt soaking to search for Hiruma. She walked around the wall of the kitchen to find a small living room, a few shirts lay on the floor along with a handful of gum wrappers. A cache of guns and ammo was buried under American Football Monthly magazines in a corner. There were two small sofas in front of a TV and a coffee table. No Hiruma.

Down the hallway, she found two doors, one was closed. The other was slightly ajar with light spilling around the frame. "Hiruma-kun?" She called, tentatively pressing at the open door.

It was the bathroom. Hiruma stood in front of the sink, his face and chest wet with a towel draped over his shoulders.

He glared and leaned forward. "I told you not to go fucking poking around, fucking creampuff waster."

Flustered far beyond common sense, she focused on the only thing her mind could process, "Oh! Would you stop calling me that? We're going out, call me by name, Hiruma-kun!"

Her boyfriend raised a single eyebrow, then casually walked past her to his living room. "When my girlfriend calls me by my first name, I'll consider using hers, O' Waster of Creampuffs."

Silenced by realization, her feet followed him without thought. She had unconsciously refused to grant him even that small closeness yet she had expected him to call her by her first name well before she'd even confessed, just as Sena and Suzuna had. He was right. She had been treating him just the same despite her confession. Had he? Dumbly, she sat next to him on the sofa, closer than she would have had she been paying attention. Their elbows bumped. Hiruma carefully did not look at her.

Staring at her hands in her lap, a sudden thought occurred to her. "Is there a reason you chose that restuarant in particular? It wasn't just because of the creampuffs, I know, Yo... Youichi-kun." She blushed fiercely but did not look up.

"Tch, don't worry. No one will recognize you."

Shocked, Mamori bit her tongue to prevent herself from saying something foolishly hurtful. Taking a moment to think instead, she decided to gather more information first, "They would recognize you. We were very close to your home, Youichi-kun."

"So fucking what? Your precious disciplinary committee position won't be damaged, so don't fucking whine." He was still, definitely not looking at her, stiff. Was he nervous? Ever so slightly, Mamori leaned toward him, just barely resting her head on his arm. She felt his muscles shift as he turned to look down at her head and look away again.

"I checked the dating policy of the committee before I confessed, Youich-kuni." She said, gaining confidence. Maybe everything had been a misunderstanding. It was possible, afterall. She giggled, somewhat heady with this realization. She put a little more weight against his arm, enjoying the closeness.

The quarterback considered this, lightning fast possibilities raced through his mind before he settled on his conclusion. With his unoccupied arm, he gently pushed Mamori away from him and raised the previously buried arm.

The young girl was shocked at being pushed away, rejected, sudden tears sprang to her eyes as she stood. "I thought... I didn't think. If you really don't want to be with me, why did you agree?"

Quickly catching her wrist before she could flee, Hiruma pulled her back onto the sofa. "Don't be stupid," he sneered. The grip on her wrist was surprisingly tight, and he didn't let go, even after she was seated. He lifted the arm beside her, once again, and draped it over her shoulders as he had originally planned. "I didn't say you could fucking leave," he told her, harshly. He held her firmly in place with both arms.

"Oh," she said simply. They were quiet and still for a moment, just sitting together. Then, Mamori blushed and started struggling to stand up again, having finally realized just how inappropriate their current position was. The two of them were sitting, pressed against each other with Youichi's arms wrapped around her while he wasn't even wearing a shirt. Mamori panicked.

Hiruma, not caring the slightest for appropriate or inappropriate anything, did not realize what was wrong quite fast enough. Afterall, they had just contentedly sat there for well over a minute. If she had something to protest in physical regards, it should have happened sooner. He held on tight, unwilling to let her escape.

Mamori almost succeeded in standing, however the slingback of Hiruma's sure grip ended with her in his lap. Mamori's entire face turned red upon realization of his naked chest against her thinly clothed back. "Hi-hi-hi-hiruma..."

"What, creampuff waster?" He spoke, his words muffled by her hair. His arms were wrapped around her midrift, holding her against him, his face pressed into her shoulder. "I'm not letting go."

"Wh-wh-why?" Mamori could not quite process. She had wrapped her hands firmly around Hiruma's arms, in a poor attempt to control what was happening. Neither moved.

"Tch. You always fucking run away when I touch you. You sit halfway across the fucking room as if there isn't a spot right beside me. You're mine, aren't you?" He had started firmly, his grip tightening on her waist, but at his last words, he let go. If she didn't want anything to do with him, there really wasn't much point.

Promptly, she hopped up out of his lap and just as swiftly sat down on the other sofa, creating plenty of space between the couple, but not leaving the apartment completely. She started to speak, but Hiruma cut her off. He wasn't interested in platitudes and patronizing attempts to spare his feelings. Instead, he laughed and spoke quite merrily. Mamori's eyes widened, tears brimming the edges at his words, her mouth hung ajar in pure shock.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I make no claim to the ownership of any Eyeshield 21 characters. Eyeshield 21 and all its facets belong to Riichiro Inagaki, who is awesome. This is not for profit, simply personal entertainment with the intent to improve my writing.

Chapter Four

She fled to the kitchen, not sure what to believe. She turned on the shirt, the innocent lavender shirt with the large red, unrelenting stain. Soaking had not helped. She ate a creampuff, and another, and then another. How could he? She thought she understood him. Apparently, she could not be more wrong. Going out with her just for blackmail, and oh did he have it. She was alone in his apartment. Worse, she had demanded it, to clean his shirt. Worse still, she had sat on his lap, her in this dress and he without any shirt at all. He probably even had a photo for evidence. Slowly, she crumpled to the floor, the box of creampuffs in one hand, the wet shirt in the other. She set the box beside her and pulled out the last dessert. Somehow, the sweet tasted salty.

Hiruma stood silently in the doorway to the kitchen. It seemed, she had really liked him. She did not anymore, that was for sure, but she had. He sighed and turned away. He had a phone call to make.

Mere seconds later, he returned. This time, Mamori noticed, having fallen to her back to stare at the ceiling. She grasped blindly for the empty styrofoam box and haphazardly threw it at her ex-boyfriend. The box fluttered weakly. Hiruma caught it.

"You are a jerk, Hiruma Youichi. A devil in human skin, evil."

"Kekeke, what else did you think I was? You're the one who confessed." He carefully placed the empty box on the counter. He wondered if she was drunk now. She had seemed off earlier from just three or four creampuffs. If she was drunk, the ride he had arranged was useless. She wouldn't be able to stay on a motorbike and he could not allow anyone to find out she was drunk, so a taxi was out of the question. He would just have to wait it out.

She glared up at him from her spot on the floor. She felt funny, but the cool tile was soothing. Her face crinkled with drying tear tracks, and her nose was stuffy. "You're a jerk." She sniffed, and tears welled up once again.

He chuckled and slid down against the doorway to the kitchen. Hiruma sat with his legs splayed out, completely at home on the floor. "I've always been a jerk. You liked me anyway." He murmured, clinging somewhat to something he knew would vanish as soon as she left.

She rolled onto her stomach to look at him better. Her face was fully red. Definitely drunk. He laughed a bit louder, drunk off of creampuffs. Only her. Mamori glared and pointed an unstable finger at him. "Don't laugh at me, you, you... meanie... head."

Hiruma only laughed louder, "Sure, sure, whatever you say, Anezaki."

"Ooh," She banged her fists on the ground, splashing herself with the shirt. Reminded, she shoved it angrily in his face. "You did this on purpose! This stain, it's not coming out and I've tried everything..." Mamori trailed off, feeling defeated. She hiccoughed. Subdued, Hiruma averted his eyes.

He gingerly took the shirt from her and absently felt the cloth. "It's wine," he said, his tone quieter without his usual manic affections. "The stain is sweet, red wine, it won't come out, Anezaki."

"No, it's creampuff filling." She said obstinately, inebriation slowing her typically rapid fire brain. Hiruma waited. "Oh." She laid her head on the floor, touching her cheek to it. It was surprisingly clean, considering the rest of the apartment, but sloppiness is different from actual dirtiness. Still, she would not have expected Hiruma to go to the trouble. She looked up at him, sitting next to her. Tentatively, she stretched out her fingers and caught the edge of his pant leg. She tugged on it. "I can fix a wine stain, maybe," she mumbled. "Why did you call me by name? You only do that when you're praising someone."

He leered, "Kekeke, fuck yeah, it's got to be a world record, getting drunk from so little alcohol."

"Call me Mamori."

"What?"

"Anezaki isn't good enough. Apologize more. Ma-mo-ri." She drew out her name, tauntingly just as he often had when calling her manager. Somehow, she was absolutely confident that was why he was using her name. Hiruma's entire face screwed up in distaste.

"Tch, the hell I will. You're laying in the middle of my kitchen floor, drunk, just be glad I haven't molested you."

Mamori giggled, "It's a very nice floor." She tugged on his pant leg, not at all concerned by his threats. She'd learned long ago what type of person he was.

Hiruma's eye twitched. Failed bluffs were the worst. They lowered your position in every way. He hated to lose. Suddenly, he leaned forward and snatched up her hand. Holding it, he put his face close to hers and grinned wickedly, every pointy tooth visible. Mamori's eyes widened; and she smiled, before bumping her forehead against his, as a cat would to greet an equal. There was not the slightest fear or hesitation. She won. He dropped the grin and leaned back against the wall. He groaned, not sure if he should be pleased with her confidence in him or miserable that she was seeing through his every action.

He did not let go of her hand. It took Mamori a few moments to notice, preening in her clear victory as she had been. Her fingers were held in a delicate, clammy grip. Surely the moisture was from the shirt, which lay forgotten on the ground, but it was the wrong hand. She closed her eyes and tried to focus her addled mind. Really, this was not the time to be teasing and playing games. Hadn't they just broken up? She shook her head, but it made no sense.

"Why are you being nice to me, Hiruma?"

The quarterback slowly disentangled his fingers from hers and tucked his hand behind his head. He stared at the ceiling as he spoke, only glancing down occasionally to see if she was buying it. He had to convince her. It was better than letting her know, now that they had no chance. There was no point in revealing it. "Blackmail is a game of give and take, how much you're willing to give in exchange for what I'm willing to take. You, Mamori, are a person who finds it difficult to truly hate someone, however, if you did, it wouldn't matter what blackmail I had on you. You wouldn't be willing to give anything, even if I took everything."

"So... you're saying you don't want me to hate you." She grinned, abandoning all attempts to clear her mind. She leaned in toward Hiruma with an almost devilish expression of her own.

The faintest pink tinge coated the tips of Hiruma's pointy ears. He continued to face away, hiding his expression as well as he could with her approach. "Exactly, you are most useful if you don't quit your spot as manager."

Mamori frowned, a cute pursing of her lips, at Hiruma's sudden switch in topic. That was not what he had meant, she was certain. She was missing something. There was a lie she had not caught. "I wouldn't have quit if you turned me down. I expected it."

"Tch, why the hell would you confess if you thought I wouldn't accept?" Now, he was looking straight at her, startled into turning by the absurdity of her statement.

"And you're apologizing, using my name, as if you did something wrong," She continued, the pieces finally clicking together. "But you never feel guilt for blackmailing people, so it's something else. Hiruma-kun... did you not mean what you said earlier?"

He scowled and turned away. He did not know how to respond. Was it at all possible she'd forgive him? Did they have even one thousandth of a chance? But, she was drunk. It didn't matter what she said now. Tomorrow, tomorrow he'd know.

But for the time being, she needed to leave, he needed her to leave. Abruptly, he stood up. "Of course I meant what I fucking said, creampuff monster. There's no point in continuing this date, get the fuck out."

Mamori pursed her lips angrily at him but ignored the rudeness. Really, she shouldn't be there in the first place. "Oh, fine, I need a hand up." She raised her hand in the air toward Hiruma. She probably could get up on her own; however, she was still somewhat unsteady from the alcohol.

"Can't lift yourself anymore, fucking manager? One too many creampuffs, kekeke," Hiruma cackled at her. Angry, Mamori started to stand on her own just as Hiruma grabbed her hand to pull her up. She slammed against him, surprising him and knocking them both over. Mamori groaned, why did this have to keep happening tonight.

She was sprawled on top of him. Her forehead had crashed into his chin and was smarting terribly, but at least they had fallen on to the carpet in the living room rather than the tile. Hiruma pulled back his head to test his jaw. His chin hurt, but he'd just managed to keep himself from biting his tongue. "Hell of a tackle," he muttered, torn between pleasure at their current position and distaste at the accident which caused it. Hesitantly, while she was regaining her bearings, he snaked an arm around her waist, holding her against him. He doubted he would get another chance to touch her for a long time. The situation was just too tempting.

Her dress moved so easily against her skin. If he shifted just a little... He didn't. Instead, he slid his hand across her back until it hooked her waist, a perfect fit. He looked at her face, inches from his own. She was sitting up as best as she could while held down, but she hadn't noticed yet. Her bright blue eyes were still disoriented and there was a pink spot in the middle of her forehead. He laid back his head and smiled, trying not to let his physical attraction show.

She placed two steadying hands on his chest, and suddenly remembered he still was not wearing a shirt. Her entire face turned red once more. Hiruma glanced down her dress, which was hanging low, revealing quite a bit more than she probably expected. He grinned, all teeth, as the flush went down and down her skin.

Catching his eyes and wicked grin but not knowing the exact cause, Mamori averted her gaze and stumbled out an apology. "Hiruma-kun, I, ah.., I slipped..."

"Obviously."

Reminded of her earlier irritation, she immediately began trying to move away from her former boyfriend. Just as before, he would not release her. She frowned at him, stilling. "You do, don't you?" She said suddenly, "You do like me. I didn't know."

"Tch, you still don't."

"Then why are you holding me?"

Hiruma's eyebrow twitched. Angrily, he flipped the two of them over, pinning Mamori beneath him. Breathless, she stared up at him, saw the fury contorting his face, fury at himself, she knew, fury for his fear. Why couldn't she have understood faster. She had foolishly thought their relationship would be normal, as if anything regarding him was normal.

"Because I'm a man and you're a woman," he insisted in stubborn pride and denial, then fiercely kissed her. She returned the kiss. He drew back in shock, jumping away from her as if she were made of fire. "What are you doing?"

"Kissing you, obviously," she giggled at getting to return his earlier drawl. His eyes narrowed, misinterpreting her humor.

"Get out," he said, finally, "Leave."


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I make no claim to the ownership of any Eyeshield 21 characters. Eyeshield 21 and all its facets belong to Riichiro Inagaki, who is awesome. This is not for profit, simply personal entertainment with the intent to improve my writing.

Chapter Five

After Hiruma had mercilessly kicked her out of his apartment, she had walked for a minute or two until Habashira Rui had popped up. Surprisingly, he offered her a ride home, which she gratefully accepted. He even had a small attachment seat to his motorcycle where she could ride without any worry that she might fall off. He did seem a little pale though, so she lent him one of her spare scarves in case he might get a chill from the evening air.

Halfway there, she tapped Habashira on shoulder and asked that he switch destinations. She didn't want to go home and the clubhouse would have all she needed to clean the lavender shirt, still held tightly in her hand. He flinched from the touch but acquiesced easily.

She spent the rest of the evening puzzled and furious with Hiruma. He'd taken her first kiss after saying he'd gone out with her for blackmail material, then demanded she leave without listening to a word she said, saying something about her being drunk still. He had been so upset with her returning the kiss. She just did not comprehend it, perhaps she never had. The kiss had been a bluff, that much she knew, to convince her he did not like her, that it was, at most, physical attraction. Which meant, he definitely liked her, seriously liked her. However, he had freaked out at her return to his gesture. If he liked her, he should have been pleased.

She screamed. The quiet in the near empty clubhouse was oppressive. The shrill noise echoed. She returned to furiously cleaning the stain. Now that she knew what had caused it, she would clean it and return it to him.

He had faced down Gaou, to protect her. What was scaring him now? She sighed. Of course, the same thing which always scared him, made him force his way through everything alone. That foolish man. She shook her head and made a plan.

She slept in the clubroom after sending her mother a text telling her everything was fine, not to worry. Her mother still worried, but at least she knew her daughter wasn't hurt. Kurita and Komusubi were the first to arrive for practice, only a couple hours after she had finally fallen asleep. Hiruma appeared not long afterwards, eyes bloodshot. He saw her sleeping on the couch and turned around. He spent the rest of the morning shooting at anyone who approached the door to the club, saying it was about time to check everyone's speed on the forty yard dash.

Mamori woke up that Saturday morning to several explosions and loud shouts at Kurita for his slowness. She had just enough time to freshen up, having slept in her spare manager's shirt and shorts. Hiruma walked in first, tossing his bag in a corner, throwing himself in his seat with his feet on the table. She scowled and started yelling at him about bringing mud in and all over the table. Sena, who had followed, guiltily backtracked to remove his shoes along with the rest of the team, not wanting the ire of their beautiful team manager turned on them.

The meeting was dreadfully normal. Hiruma acted as if they had never spoken off the field, much less dated. Mamori was tapping her fingers on the table by the end of the meeting. With each new succession of taps, each member of the team, save Hiruma, would flinch, not knowing what had her so riled. Finally, Hiruma snapped. "Quit interrupting the meeting with your damn hormones, fucking manager."

The majority of the team immediately fled to hide behind Kurita, who was sweetest and could withstand the byblows of their fights best, and Sena, who Mamori would never be angry with. The sudden shift in Sena's position, from table to forefront of the group as their personal shield caused him to catch sight of a very disturbing image.

"Ah... Hiruma-san," he said, too startled to realize the immediate danger of disrupting the impending fight. "What is that in your bag?" The boy pointed toward a large scarf trailing out of said school bag. He had immediately recognized it as one Mamori often forced him to wear on cold days.

Hiruma's eye twitched. "It's a fucking scarf, some idiot gave it to me to return, fucking shrimp."

Derailed from her personal irritation, Mamori brightened instantly at seeing the scarf. She assembled the puzzle near instantly, her wit being very close Hiruma's own genius level. He must have gotten it from Habashira, which meant he had sent Habashira to get her home safely and, if he had made contact afterwards to retrieve the scarf, he must have made sure she actually got where she was headed. How sweet. Smiling with such pure light and happiness as to almost blind the room, Mamori said, "Thank you, Youichi-kun. I'd like it if you kept it, it's been very cold lately." Sena hid under the table.

Hiruma casually grabbed the scarf and tossed it to her, "I don't want it, don't coddle me, fucking manager."

"I'll make one just for you then, Youichi-kun."

The quarterback narrowed his eyes. "I didn't take any pictures, so just drop it," he said, thinking she may be worried about the blackmail he'd threatened last night.

"Pictures?!" Monta shouted, peeking out from behind Kurita. Hiruma instantly shot him. Mamori blocked the shot with her clipboard, but Monta had already fainted in terror.

"What does he mean by pictures, Anezaki-san?" Kurita asked, somewhat tremulously. He trusted his friend not to do anything too horrible, but he was not quite sure where the boundary went for the Threatbook.

Casually and unconcerned, Mamori answered him, shocking everyone in the room. "Oh, I was at Youichi's house last night. We went on a date. Speaking of, here's your shirt, Youichi-kun." She rummaged briefly in a back room before returning with the unstained, washed, pressed and folded lavender shirt.

Kurita grabbed Mamori and Hiruma in a tight hug, wailing tears of joy. "A date!" was all he managed to squeak out before blubbering overtook him. Musashi pried them apart before Hiruma really killed him, though he did give Hiruma a proud pat on the back. Hiruma shot him, too. Musashi was unfazed as the bullet wizzed past his head, nicking his ear.

"We're not fucking dating."

"Yes, we are." Mamori said, stubbornly stomping her foot on the floor.

"Arenai..." Taki said, for once, expressing nearly the entire team's sentiments. This time, Hiruma did not stop shooting until he ran out of bullets. Yukimistu joined Sena under the table, where it seemed safest. Sena, however, had begun to hyperventilate. Suzuna was happily waving her pom-poms, doing a cheer which sounded eerily similar to a familiar childhood rhyme, "...sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i..." With Kurita's departure as primary shield, the rest of the team sought shelter behind Komusubi, including the ha-ha brothers. Komusubi stuck his head up, "Hmmph," lowering their spot in strength ratings once again. "Ha-Haa-HAH?!" This started off another fight between the four linemen. Way in the back, almost invisible, Ishimaru said quietly, "This kind of thing makes my blood run cold."

Over the noise, Hiruma was shouting, having reloaded his gun and pulled out a couple grenades, she could not possibly serious. She was just getting back at him for the previous night, at least, that had to be it.

Calmly, having planned far enough ahead to know this would happen, Mamori found the megaphone she had set aside. Completely ignoring her own rule, she climbed on top of the table. Yukimitsu did not dare to look up lest, if the what she was saying was true, Hiruma would certainly kill him. Sena was still hyperventilating and did not even notice his childhood friend's shorts.

"I said," Mamori spoke gently through the microphone. Everyone quieted. Musashi discreetly approached Hiruma.

"If she says what I think she's going to say," he whispered in his friend's pointy ear. "She might be serious."

"I said," she repeated, just to be clear, "I like Hiruma Youichi, we are going out. We went on a date. I like Youichi-kun best and if he doesn't start calling me by my first name, there will be consequences."

Hiruma grinned, finally giving in, she wasn't messing with him, she wouldn't go this far to mess with him. It would embarrass her just as much. She meant it. She really meant it. He pulled her down from the table, held her tight and kissed her. This time, it didn't surprise him when she kissed him right back, there in front of the entire team.

He broke the kiss long enough to resume shooting at everyone. "Get the fuck out, I and my fucking girlfriend have some talking to do."

Yukimitsu fled, tripping over Sena, Suzuna dragged the poor boy behind her, giggling. Musashi ushered Kurita, who was still crying happily, out while grabbing Monta's foot to drag him along. Taki spun out the door. The Ha-ha brothers were knocked with Komusubi by Kurita's oblivious passage. Ishimaru wondered if they would notice if he stayed. The nozzle of Hiruma's gun stared him in the face. He shivered and left with the rest.

Hiruma's grin nearly split his face. "You got the stain out, fucking bossy Mamori."

"Of course I did. I said I would, Youichi-kun, I just needed to know what it was."

Turning ever so slightly red, Hiruma whispered the words she most wanted to hear in her ear then kissed her again.

Three days later, he could be seen wearing a red and black scarf with two names written on it, one the signature of the maker and the other his own, side-by-side.


End file.
